


The Mother Hen

by Mistress_of_the_Underground



Series: Wolf among Musketeers [1]
Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Aramis is a caring friend, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Werewolves, and a mother hen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_the_Underground/pseuds/Mistress_of_the_Underground
Summary: Aramis is a werewolf among the musketeers, but not even the full moon can keep him from being an absolute mother hen.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/d'Artagnan
Series: Wolf among Musketeers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192718
Kudos: 5





	The Mother Hen

The full moon shines in the endless sky, only barely hiding her bright round face behind the dark clouds that have been sailing over the firmament since the early hours of the morning. They are only a few together, and the sky disappears behind their shades only occasionally. A moment after another, a few more shadows glide over the moon, but just as fast, they disappear, and the stars can shine brightly around the orb of the night again. Every month the world gets graced with bright nights, three in a row when heaven is not that far away. These nights his blood sings and howls for freedom and Eden. For his pack. For the packmates, he has built his existence around here in Paris. For his mate…

He has no right to yearn for their continuous presence when he can not even bring himself to confess his unorthodox existence to them. When he can't trust them enough, to be absolutely certain, that they don't hand him over to the executioner to end his cursed existence. Beheaded for your birthright - doesn’t it just sound glorious? 

To hell with that. Tonight? Tonight he runs.

He shakes out his copper coloured coat and trots out of his quarters, out on his hunt to find something to fill his night with rather than accidentally shred another one of his books or a pair of gloves in boredom. Both Athos’s gifts at that… He’ll forever regret both of those accidents with his whole soul. He couldn't even tell Athos as to what happened to the gloves. Of course, the man knew, that something had happened to them, he isn't blind nor is he stupid, but Aramis couldn't even confess that he had ruined them. For his next birthday, a fresh pair of leather gloves were gifted to him and Athos never asked a thing. Aramis still has that pair in his care, though the seams are worn and there are holes in the stitchings already. He will stitch those close again and carry on loving his precious gift.

Cats, chickens and even dogs run out of his way before it ever crosses his mind to snap his jaws towards them. To catch, to break their spines with a mere touch, to taste blood, to feast, to feed the beast inside of him, the one thing thirsting for fresh raw meat every full moon. He will have to hunt sooner or later, but having been trapped among the city walls for tonight he will have to resort to escaping the confinement earlier tomorrow. Escape to the woods and hunt to the content of his wolf’s heart. To the content of HIS heart for they are one. They were taken together from dirt, moulded into one mortal being and together will they return to dirt as is God’s wish. 

He trots further into the maze of Parisian streets. A drunk man stumbling around like a blind bat, only staying up with the assistance of walls, comes face to face with him. His eyes go wide as saucers, his hands tremble as he reaches for the short dagger at his hip. Aramis merely rolls his eyes, the man is nowhere near Athos’s grace and ability, the only man Aramis has ever seen able to hit a target and fight like a glorious bastard after drinking the whole Paris dry, the drunk in front of him wouldn’t get a single blow in against his four-legged form even if he were completely sober and not crawling around. With a barked laugh he merely trots around the man, only a little out of his reach just to play it safe and he is back on his way as if nothing happened, leaving the man behind to thank God for saving his life underneath his breath.

He familiarizes himself with the smells of Paris. He follows the scent trails he knows for a short while in curiosity and excitement, mapping the comings and goings of people he knows in his mind. At one point he catches a whiff of Athos's scent, faint leather, gunpowder and something just utterly Athos that he can not name in any of the languages he speaks, leading away from one of their usual haunts. He tracks the other man's scent to his front door. Listening intently underneath Athos's bedroom window he hears the man stumbling around. With a lighter heart, he is back on his way. Athos is safely home with no danger troubling him.

He ends up chasing a huge rat for two streets, almost running over an elderly woman who seemingly didn’t even notice the race that passed her. He would have kept the run going for a few more streets if only the rodent didn’t disappear into a crook in the wall. Aramis’s tries to stuff his nose in after the rat, he even scratches at the wall with his paws a few times, but his nose does not fit in the hole and he is forced to abandon his fun with a disappointed whine and droopy ears.

Soon he forgets all about his failed hide-and-seek with the rat as he trots further along the streets. He even passes the garrison, keeping himself to the shadows, out from the guards’ sight, he doesn’t feel like fighting with his fellow musketeers, with his brothers in arms, for the sake of fighting, the red guards take that job way too seriously for him to ever bother picking his fights elsewhere. All he has to do is look a red guard in the eyes and smirk - or even just wink! - and the men will be crawling over each other to stab him.

He leaves the building behind and runs down the familiar streets. With excitement coursing through him, making his tail wag like some domesticated mutt’s begging for food, he spots a familiar figure further up the street. The man seems to be deep in thought, dragging his feet behind like a reluctant child on his way home. Madame Bonacieux must be providing the lad with sufficient amounts of troubling thoughts tonight if even home he doesn’t want to go.

Aramis would never confess out loud that he is a mother hen, he wouldn't say it at all if he only gets the chance, yet deep down he knows that he can never escape the title and he is certain that the whole garrison has enough tales about his care and worries when an injured man is trusted in his hands to fill the length of his whole life with teasing and jolly jabs. Or maybe even two…

Mother hen or not, he can not just leave a friend to the streets in the middle of the night. D’Artagnan must go home tonight if he wishes so or not, Aramis does not care, the lad will be sleeping like a child in his own bed soon enough. 

With the decision made in his mind, his ears perked up and tail softly wagging, Aramis trots up to the lad and brushes his lean body against the Gascon’s leg. With a dopey, read as: absolutely idiotic, look on his face to convince the lad of his friendly intentions he stares up towards the younger man. He lets his tongue loll out of his mouth for an additional measure. It certainly saves him from overheating too. 

The man stares down at him with shock written all over his face, seemingly over a hundred different expressions go over his face as the minutes tick by. Aramis continues to stare at him like a puppy, God does he feel idiotic making that face. Silently he thanks his lucky stars that D'Artagnan doesn’t know it’s HIM. They will never let him live it down if they only knew. Musketeer Aramis, the rumoured seducer of whole Paris, playing like a small pup in his free time. No, they can't know THAT.

Finally, the lad crouches down next to him, his arm comes up and scratches behind his ear. No, he definitely did not just wag his tail off and neither did he thump his hind leg against the cobblestones like an overexcited puppy getting his first scratches ever. Very well, maybe just a little, but you can’t blame him, it feels like heaven down on earth, especially after the many years worth of time he has gone without another’s grooming touch on his fur. His mother had been the last person to touch his wolf form and that had been when he was barely fifteen.

He laughs at Aramis, he dares to laugh! LAUGH over him! Aramis can’t control the pout that shadows his expression and the way his tail and ears droop a bit for mere seconds before he reminds himself that he is supposed to play the part of a dumb street dog that can absolutely not recite poetry in five different languages should he so wish and therefore should not show his distaste as the younger man almost rolls on the ground in his laughter. He will have his revenge on the day D'Artagnan expects it the least he decides and perks back up.

He jumps around, he dances around the lad, he even goes as far as crouching down, leaving his hind in the air, tail wagging so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to sprain his tail again like he did when he was just a pup. He will never talk about that again, for the record of it, you never heard it being mentioned.

He barks, he whines and tugs at the boy’s clothes and hands. The lad only laughs and finally follows him. With his dance of excitement, Aramis leads the boy closer and closer to his lodgings. D'Artagnan picks up a small stick from the street that seems to be a piece of construction materials someone has lost and throws it to the end of the street. Aramis runs after the stick with fervour burning in his veins. At this point he doesn't care how dumb he looks, he has missed this so much, just letting go of his constant worries over his "furry problem" and enjoy being cared for rather than feared. He runs back with the stick and allows D'Artagnan to play tug-war with him for a few moments before he lets go of the stick and waits for it to be thrown again. They do it twice more before the street corner just off their destination is just a touch away. With a spurt of speed Aramis bolts towards the street corner one last time after the stick and stops there to stare if the lad is following him or not. One of his paws is on the stick, his prized possession.

He feels so energized, heat wafting over his body in waves as his tongue almost reaches the ground with how hard he is panting for some coolness. The lad runs to his side, almost falling on his knees as he reaches him. He throws his arms around Aramis’s neck, his fingers combing through his fur as the lad laughs to tears in this one-sided embrace. Aramis just licks over his face making the boy laugh even harder and wipe at his face. He headbutts the Gascon towards his building. D’Artagnan looks towards the house and back to the wolf sitting next to him.

“Thank you!”

With that the lad messes up his fur a bit more and runs inside, leaving the panting wolf outside to collect himself after such an extensive night of running. Aramis thinks to himself with a smile pulling at his mouth’s corners:

Mission accomplished.


End file.
